So I’ve seen people discussing their thoughts on the different routes in the game recently and I love yapping about shit I’m into.
I’m playing through all the ones I’ve already done and doing the ones I haven’t yet so here’s Muriel’s.
Muriel is one of my favorite characters, being a combo of large and soft, and a big ball of anxiety. I liked the dynamic between the Mc and him but I wish they got to develop it a bit more, some scenes felt a bit like forcing him to do things a bit quickly.
I liked the transition from the original mission into what the route becomes as it makes more sense than Asras for example. Instead of being whisked away into a completely new situation it connected better.
Now the main mission I’m not the happiest with. I love a good training arc and characters getting stronger, but I really didn’t feel that here. We were constantly told they’re getting stronger but every fight felt like we were the same strength and honestly would have ended the same if our characters weren’t there. I didn’t feel like we were any better until the second fight with vulgora.
The ending of the route I was fairly okay with, I’m always a fan of creatures like demons or fae being trapped into the rules they govern by. It dragged a bit for me at parts but it wasn’t really boring.
These are just some things that stuck out to me off the dome but if anyone’s interested in me rambling more feel free to ask 🫡
—The moment it happens, Asra’s entire world stops breathing. One second you’re laughing, the next you’re between them and a blade, and then you’re on the ground with blood on your shirt and your smile flickering.
—They drop beside you instantly, trembling hands already glowing with healing light, voice breaking on your name: “No, no, no— stay with me, love, stay with me.”
—The rational part of their mind dissolves. They pour every ounce of magic they have into your wound, ignoring the burns crawling up their own arms, whispering frantic promises: “I can fix this. You’ll be okay. You always make it okay.”
—The guilt is suffocating. You protected them, them, the one who was supposed to protect you. They can’t comprehend it. Their whole being is wired for self-sacrifice; they never imagined you’d do the same.
—When you finally stabilize, Asra refuses to leave your side. They sleep sitting up, head against your shoulder, pulse pressed to yours just to make sure you’re still there.
—Later, when you joke about it (“Hey, at least I made a good shield”), Asra just stares at you with tear-bright eyes and whispers, “Don’t ever do that again. I’d rather be gone than see you fall for me.”
JULIAN
—For a heartbeat, he doesn’t even realize what’s happened. He was supposed to take that blow, it was his duel, his mistake… and then suddenly, it’s you lying there.
—The way he screams your name could wake the dead.
—He falls to his knees, blood smearing across his gloves as he tries to hold you together with shaking hands. His voice breaks on apologies, curses, prayers, all tangled into a frantic litany: “No no no no, please, gods, take me instead.”
—Every trauma, every failure floods back. You were his light, his one proof that he could do something right, and now you’re fading because of him.
—He doesn’t stop talking while the healers work. He tells you stories, half-mad, to keep you anchored. Recounts the first time he saw you smile, the first time you scolded him, the first time he realized he was in love.
—When you finally wake up, he laughs and cries at once, clutching your face like you might vanish. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he says, voice hoarse. “If anyone’s going to make reckless, life-threatening decisions around here, it’s me.”
NADIA
—It happens too fast. You push her out of the way, take the hit meant for her, and in that instant, the Duchess disappears. Nadia the woman takes over.
—Her scream echoes through the marble halls like thunder. She drops to her knees, ripping a strip of her gown to staunch the bleeding with trembling hands that have never trembled before.
“Stay awake,” she orders, voice cracking. “That’s an order, do you hear me?” But there’s nothing commanding about it, only pleading.
—She calls for healers, for guards, for anyone. But she refuses to let go of you. Blood stains her sleeves, her rings, her hair. She doesn’t care.
—When you finally stir hours later, she’s still there with the eyes rimmed red and crown discarded somewhere on the floor. She takes your hand and presses her forehead to it.
“You fool,” she whispers, half-sobbing, half-laughing. “You absolute, magnificent fool. I should imprison you for terrifying me like that.”
MURIEL
—The world narrows to sound: the impact, your gasp and his own heart pounding. He doesn’t even think. He’s beside you in seconds, lifting you with the gentleness of someone holding the last fragile piece of his soul.
—His hands are huge and clumsy, slick with blood. He keeps whispering your name, over and over, like it’s a spell that might wake you.
—Muriel has faced beasts, curses and exile. But this kind of fear is new. He can’t fight it with strength. He can only hold you and hope you keep breathing.
—When Asra or Nadia arrives to heal you, he doesn’t move away. He just keeps your hand in his, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
—For days after, he barely speaks. The guilt eats at him, the idea that you were hurt because of him, because you thought his life was worth protecting. He can’t accept that.
—When you finally sit up, pale but smiling, he almost crumples. You reach for him, and he hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid he’ll break you again, until you insist. Then he buries his face against your neck, silent tears soaking your skin.
PORTIA
—The moment you push her out of harm’s way, she doesn’t even process it. One blink, and suddenly you’re bleeding.
“No no no no, hey— hey— look at me!” She’s on the ground beside you, hands pressing against the wound even though she’s shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m right here, we’re fine—” She’s not fine.
—When the healers come, they have to physically pull her back because she won’t stop talking to you, begging you to stay awake. She’ll pace the hallway for hours, blood still on her hands, refusing to rest.
—When you finally regain consciousness, she collapses beside your bed, head in her arms, sobbing with relief.
“You idiot,” she mumbles between hiccups. “You could’ve died, and then who would I annoy all day?”
—But later, when it’s just you and her in the candlelight, she gets quieter. Her hands tremble as she cups your face, voice small: “Don’t ever think I’m not worth saving, okay? But don’t you ever trade yourself for me again.”
LUCIO
—Lucio has always believed himself invincible…until you throw yourself in front of him. The sight of you taking the hit meant for him breaks something fundamental.
“No— no no no, don’t you dare—” He’s yelling before he even reaches you, his hands frantically trying to stop the bleeding, his voice raw.
—For once, he’s not thinking about image or pride, just you. “You weren’t supposed to do that! I can handle it, I always handle it—” His words crumble into panic.
—He carries you himself, shouting for healers, refusing to let anyone else touch you. His armor is streaked with your blood by the time you’re stable.
—When you wake, his eyes are red and his hair a mess. The proud Count reduced to a man who’s been sitting in the corner all night, head in his hands.
—The second you speak, he’s at your side, half laughing, half crying: “You absolute maniac. I was supposed to protect you! That’s my whole thing!”
—It shakes him. Not just the fear, but the realization that someone loves him enough to risk themselves. It makes him rethink everything he’s ever believed about strength.
Dallas' head snaps back, and he stumbles with the force of an unexpected hand on his shoulder. For the briefest moment, he goes entirely limp, lets his fist hang in the air and doesn't try to scramble back to the boy on the steady retreat in front of him.
Darry's got him. And if he'd thought it through for even a second longer that would have scared the shit out of him. But then the fingers are tearin' into his jacket and forcin' him backward and he finally whips his head around and realizes the reality: two very pissed cops have got him.
And he immediately starts fightin' again. He writhes in their grip and the kid he'd been whalin' on is suddenly skitterin' back with renewed fear. Dallas bares his teeth once and figures he's made his point.
The next ten minutes are a blur.
His heart is poundin' in his ears and he can feel his pulse as it rattles under the cuffs the cops slapped on him the second they could get his wrists within a foot of each other and his head is achin' and he realizes for the first time he tastes blood but he can't focus on anythin' because all he can think is Fuck, Darry is never gonna forgive me for this.
He says it all the time. When he rolls in an hour late and thinks Darry's gonna kick my ass. Or when he lets Pony have just a little too much of his beer and the kid's gigglin' fit to wake the dead when Dallas 'n him sneak back in. Or when he hauls off and picks stupid fuckin' fights for no reason.
But this time he means it.
He groans and drops his head to his hands in the little holdin' cell they have him waitin' in until they process him. Last night's argument flashes vaguely in stills through his mind. He wasn't comfortable with people... carin'. He just didn't know what to do with it.
You can't tell me what to do, Darrel. Dallas flew up from the kitchen table and paced wildly away from Darry. Pony watched him with wary eyes. Soda bit his lip and looked at Dallas like he was tryin' to tell him a hundred things Dally didn't know how to understand.
Yes, I can. I won't have you actin' a fool and gettin' yourself hurt. Darry frowned and he's got these lines in his forehead Two jokes he never had before Dallas moved in. Dallas can't stand to see them.
You're not my brother. And you're not my dad. I ain't never had no one tellin' me what to do in my whole life and I'm not about to let you start. He'd slammed the screen door and gone straight to Tim's, started a fight, wound up at Buck's 'n drank til he vomited, woke up this mornin', and started another.
Darry was goin' to throw him to the fuckin' curb and never talk to him again. And Dallas deserved it. He wasn't one of the Curtis boys. No matter how hard he wanted to be.
"Name?" A cop had reappeared in his cell and he kicked himself for missin' it.
"Curtis." Dallas opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "Fuck. No, sorry." Since when the fuck did he apologize to cops! "It's Winston. Dallas Winston."
The man just stared at him, Curtis already written across the top of the paper in big, bold letters. "Are you sober, kid?"
"Yes, I'm fuckin' sober! My name's not Curtis. How the fuck do you not know me?" To his horror, he feels hot tears in the back of his throat. He's just some no-good juvenile delinquent every bastard officer in this town knows by name except this one apparently because all he is is trouble. And Darry hated him.
"Sure, kid." The man shuffles his papers together. "Officer Matthews has already called your- big brother is it? He's on his way."
"He's not my brother!" And now he's actually cryin' which is bullshit! Who cares! Who cares that Darry is gonna look at him just like his father did. Like he was a burden he'd do anythin' to get rid of. Like the worst thing Dallas ever did was simply show up in his life one day. Dallas is used to this. He's not someone who stays. He was meant to be left. He's a violent dog. He only knows how to bite.
"Dallas?" Darry's voice makes him jump. He doesn't pull his hands away from where they're pressed so hard into his eyes that he sees stars. He can't bear to look up and see what he already knows he will—not hatred, but cold, cold indifference.
"Out." Darry isn't talkin' to him, Dallas can tell he's turned around by the way his voice bounces back to him off the cement walls. He flinches anyway. "Please." He adds like an afterthought and Dallas hears the door open and close.
"I'm goin' to touch you, ok?" Dallas doesn't say anythin', just makes a low noise in the back of his throat. He feels Darry gently tip his head back, eyes still squeezed shut. He feels him softly check the area on his jaw he knows will bruise tomorrow and run experimental fingers along his ribs for breaks. Dally hisses once and Darry immediately pulls back.
"Oh, Dallas." And suddenly Dallas is fuckin' cryin' again. Darry sounds so tired and worn down and old. Did Dallas do that? Did Dallas make him like that? And the sob that catches in his throat makes him choke.
But then he's pressed against Darry's chest and his hands are strong on Dalla's back and in his hair and Dallas doesn't even fight it. Just lets himself be held and doesn't even mind he feels as small as Ponyboy.
Last time I reblogged this I lost ten followers, someone I liked blocked me, and I got hate mail in my inbox for several days. Let’s see what happens this time.
My ex wouldn’t even accept a ride from my friend who offered to drive us home in the pouring Orlando rain and instead forced us to walk 12 minutes in the rain, soaking my only pair of work shoes and giving me a cold. FUCKING RED FLAGS
I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:
IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.
1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.
2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.
3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”
4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”
5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.
TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.
Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isn’t a joke, and neither is someone’s life. If you didn’t know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.
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